Loved to Loathe
by Kaira77
Summary: Ever since that night, he had hated her with a strength reserved for only her. She had seen who he really was; she had seen something underneath all the nastiness... That terrified him. A ficlet about Malfoy's thoughts on Hermione; stays in canon - but with a twist. Rated T for language and attempted assault
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone; this is something a bit different for me! Set after the battle at Hogwarts, assuming that Hermione, Ron, Harry and Draco return to Hogwarts to finish their final year. For now, it's a one shot, but I might continue it if people like it. Rated T for language.**

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He fucking _hated _her. He hated everything about her! Why did she make his blood boil the way it did? Potty and the Weasel were bad enough, and the thought of them made him sneer with contempt, but when her angry, flushed, wild-hair framed face popped into his mind, he would always feel a hot surge of… fury.

He sometimes couldn't help but look at her in lessons, contemplating how it was possible for a person to be so sickening. Right now, they were in potions together, and his aversion to her was really making it hard to concentrate. The fact she was in the classroom at all was abhorrent. He suddenly felt angry that she was so close to him. It was disgusting that he had to be near to her, metres away from her in the dimly lit classroom, the flicker from the fire under her cauldron highlighting reddish streaks in her wild tangled curls. His mouth curled as she closed her eyes in thought, her eyelashes splaying on her cheeks and her pink lips moving as she muttered what was no doubt a passage from the text book.

_Fucking know-it-all_, he inwardly jeered; the fury was back again, making his whole body tingle. He continued to stare at her, hating everything he saw… her big, round, brown eyes that would always narrow when she looked at him, the faint freckles spattering across her nose, her small stature that meant she had to stand on tip toe to reach the potion ingredients on the shelves, the fact that she wore her school skirt too long on her legs and the way her head girl badge was perfectly aligned above her left breast. He hated every detail, down to the dimples that only appeared when she smiled.

He had hated her on principle as soon as he had found out her blood status back in his first year, but the hate had grown with time. She just thought she was so bloody _perfect_. Getting full marks in every subject, never bothering to do her hair and make-up like all the other girls, hanging around with the fricking heroic Harry Potter and generally being the bane of his life. In his opinion, she was partially responsible for Lucius ending up in Azkaban a couple of years ago. She was so sanctimoniously _pure._ She was golden in everyone's eyes. She could do no wrong, and hadn't. Her virtuous nature made him want to retch. It was especially hard to swallow currently, as most people now regarded _him_ like a burst bubotuber. It wasn't fair.

Now, her blood status didn't really matter to him anymore. Since The Dark Lord and his followers had lost the war last year, he had been forced to consider the fact that he had been on the wrong side; and he now believed he had been. There was a lot he was beginning to question about his upbringing, and he had to admit every minor realisation stung his pride. But he was so _angry_ about how he was thought of now. _It wasn't his fault_. He had been brought up being religiously told that The Dark Lord was good and mudbloods were bad, and that wealth and status meant everything, and that he _was_ above everybody else as a member of one of the oldest and most esteemed pureblood families. How had he been supposed to help his beliefs?!

What had happened to him in sixth year had just been bloody unfair; entrusted – no, _blackmailed _ – into the impossible task of killing Dumbledore. _That _had been when he started to consider that there was something wrong with everything he had ever been told. But by then it was too late; those with the Dark Mark cannot back out of the group. The year of the war had been horrific; his whole family being the butt of every joke and The Dark Lord had constantly taunted them with suggestions of cruel and vicious punishments for their mistakes and cowardice. He had found himself silently praying that Dumbledore's lot would hurry up and win. When those three had ended up in his mansion, he really _hadn't_ wanted to hurt them (although that's certainly not to say he _liked _them) – he had wanted them to get away… that's why he had stalled Bellatrix. It hadn't been well done, but it had been noticed by Potter and Granger. That, and the fact that his mother had saved Potter in the Forbidden Forest during the final battle, had secured Draco's family a free future, even if they were still viewed with disgust by the wizarding community at large.

Yes, he knew now that his father had been foolish to get involved with The Dark Lord to begin with, and he wished he hadn't been dragged down with him. None of these realisations meant he was a Saint, he told himself vehemently – refusing to behave like a bloody Hufflepuff, it had been a selfish realisation as much as anything else. It would have been better for his own skin if he had been on the side of Dumbledore and his trusty Golden Trio. It didn't mean he liked them though; as he'd just been thinking – muggle born or not, he still _hated _Hermione Granger. Hermione 'Whiter-than-snow' Granger.

He tried to pinpoint when exactly she had started to be able to illicit this fire coursing through his veins. Yes, he had always hated her, but it hadn't always felt like this. There had been flashes of it throughout his adolescence, but now it was constant. He had first felt it when she had slapped him in the face in third year. The way she had looked then, her eyes flashing and her cheeks rouged with rage, and the sheer bravery and _defiance _of it. He had felt it strongly then; all the characters were so sickeningly Gryffindor; and she had cowed him well and good. No one got to do that to him.

The second time was at the Yule Ball in fourth year. She had glided into the room on the arm of Viktor Krum, looking… he had to admit it…. Beautiful. Granted, it was probably only the effect of endless potions and makeup products, but she had no right to look like that, or be on the arm of an international quidditch player. And there she was, strutting around in that blue dress that clung to her upper body just enough to stay classy, and that swayed around her legs as she walked. When Krum span her around on the dance floor, the whole skirt lifted and swung around her waist, granting those who might be looking the quickest flash of thigh – the most flesh he had ever seen her bare. He couldn't stop looking at her, and he hated her for that.

But what had really set this feeling to constant was something that happened in sixth year – something he didn't think anybody knew about except him and her.

After Potter had attacked him using dark magic he had no business knowing, he had spent a couple of nights in the hospital wing; he had to take anti-scarring and blood replenishing potions, but Madame Pomfrey had suggested the extra night to help him recover from the 'shock' – not knowing the real reason for his gaunt appearance and withdrawn persona. The whole thing filled him with a feeling of nauseating humiliation; Potter had seen him cry _and_ sent him to the hospital wing. But he had to admit, even his anger towards Potter had taken a back seat to his feelings of fear and self-pity those nights in the hospital wing. He had refused guests, although Pansy and Zabini had tried to visit him. He was too distraught at the fact he was failing his formidable Master to see anyone. He had spent his hours in the hospital wing hiding behind the curtains, staring hopelessly into space, and blinking away scared tears. He cringed at the memory, had he, Draco Malfoy, really been so pathetic?! Urgh.

He shook his head as if to fend off the memory. _It was a moment of weakness… forget it._ And so he would have done, if a certain nosy, bushy haired bookworm hadn't seen him at his most vulnerable, meaning he couldn't just pretend it never happened.

She had come to the hospital wing late one evening, he had been – he winced at the memory – crying, and she came in. He had heard her voice through the curtains, and had hastily brushed away the tears, just in case she caught a glimpse of him.

'Madame Pomfrey?' She questioned in that slightly hushed voice that people tend to use around sick people.

'Oh! Hermione, dear, what are you doing here? Are you alright?'

'I'm fine, Ma'am, I just have some homework for Professor Snape on healing potions, and I was wondering if I could get some help from you?'

Draco rolled his eyes. Of course, homewo… _but, _he had suddenly realised, _Snape hadn't set any homework on healing potions_. What was she up to?

'Yes, of course dear! What is it?'

'Well the textbook lists the basic ingredients for bone repair potions, such as skele-gro - here…'

There was a pause and Draco heard the rustling of pages.

'… but Professor Snape said that you can alter and add ingredients to customise the potion, like to reduce the pain in bone regrowth, or to strengthen the bones in older patients…'

'Yes that can be done…' Came Madame Pomfrey's voice, 'But you have to be very careful, mistakes can cause… rather gruesome effects… that's why not many people attempt it.'

'Yes, so I was wondering if _you_ customise _your_ skele-gro… and if so, how do you do it?'

Madame Pomfrey chuckled. 'I've never met a student who put so much effort into her homework… I do have my own recipe, as a matter of fact, but I will need to find my notes on it to tell you what it is, I haven't made a batch in quite some time.'

'Oh, please could I see them, Madame Pomfrey?' Said Granger, in a voice alight with interest, 'I don't mind waiting…'

'Well… alright… just wait there then, I'll be back soon.'

He heard Madam Pomfrey walk off towards her office, and for a second everything was quiet, until…

Hermione suddenly stepped through the curtains to his left, and past his only defence. After the initial shock of seeing her form mere feet away from him, he reacted with fury.

'What the fuck, Granger!? Get out!'

'Malfoy… I just want to talk'

'What the _Hell _makes you think I would talk to _you_?' He sneered, 'Can't you and your bloody idiotic boy toys just leave me alone!?'

_Why _was she here!? Fucking bitch. Could she see the evidence of his misery? Were his eyes pink? Was his face blotchy? His stomach churned in embarrassment.

'GET OUT!' He yelled, hoping against hope that Pomfrey would hear him and get her the hell away from him.

'Malfoy,' she said, in a soft tone that he had never heard her say his name in before, it was… kind. He was so shocked that he stopped seething for a second. 'Are you alright? You look awful.'

He came back to himself quickly, and affixed the scowl back on his face.

'What do you fucking expect!? The Boy Wonder sliced me up well and good, didn't he? And I'm supposed to be the evil one…' he muttered resentfully, before remembering who he was talking to.

'What do you care how I am? Coming here asking me stupid questions… for the brainiac of the century you can really be a sodding idiot, you know?'

She winced at the venom in his voice.

'What do you fucking want, Granger? Tell me, and then piss off.'

'I want to know if you are alright, Malfoy, and I don't mean after what Harry did to you.'

'Whatever he told you, it's a lie!' He snarled. The thought of Granger knowing he'd cried was, for some reason, worse than Potter seeing it.

'He didn't tell me anything…' she said quietly, 'but I can tell something's wrong… you've been looking awful for weeks, Malfoy.'

'You've been looking awful for years, and I don't come and pester you about it…' he spat.

She cringed again, and he felt a ripple of something that felt horribly like… guilt.

'Malfoy, tell me, maybe I can help you… whatever they are making you do, there must be a way out… I don't think you're really a bad person, Malfoy, you're just… scared.'

He blinked, thrown off by the depth of her insight, but quickly regained his angry façade.

'You're talking a load of shit, Granger,' he sneered, 'you don't know _anything_ about me, and I don't want you to!'

She sighed. 'Alright Malfoy, I just wanted you to know someone had noticed. And I wanted to apologise for what Harry did to you.'

'Fat lot of difference any of that makes, considering you mean _nothing_ to me.'

She looked sadly at him. 'I know that Draco, I just wanted you to know that you mean something to me. I don't like you, but I don't want you to get hurt… especially because I think there's more to you.'

'Bollocks. Now Get. The. Hell. Out.'

She left, and two minutes later she was talking to Pomfrey about Skele Gro again.

Ever since that night, he had hated her with a strength reserved for only her. She had seen who he really was; she had seen something underneath all the nastiness.

And that terrified him.

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**Thanks for reading! The review box is right there… :p**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, I've decided to extend this into a 3 chapter ficlet – but I am warning you, it might not have a happy ending. As much as I love Dramione, I seem to have an aversion to writing out of canon… Possibly my loyalty to Ron/Hermione kicking in (check out my 'Missing Moments' series!). This chapter might be a little dark… but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Rated T for language and attempted assault.**

Draco had really had enough of school now. In his opinion, the end of his final year couldn't come soon enough. Things just weren't the same as they used to be. Many of his friends had not returned to Hogwarts; the Slytherin common room was pretty empty these days, and he was usually bored as a result.

Many of the children of the Death Eaters who had been killed in battle or sent to Azkaban did not want to return to school. He understood how they felt; the social stigma to being a Death Eater's child was pretty bad; mix in the grief of losing said parent and the confusion over how much of what you had been brought up with was brainwashing and how much was truth, and hey presto; you have a lot of reclusive teenagers.

The only reason he had returned to school was because he was determined not to hide away. He may be many things, but ashamed was not one of them. In his opinion, he had been through more in the war than many on the 'right' side; he had served his sentence and taken his punishment. If everyone else wanted to hate him, fine. He didn't care.

That didn't stop the fact that Hogwarts was a lonely place for him now. Zabini had returned with him, but Pansy and Goyle had both decided against coming back – and obviously Crabbe was now dead. He spent a lot of time on his own nowadays. It didn't bother him particularly, he wasn't exactly the 'pally' type, but it had been nice to be surrounded by like-minded people. The problem was now many Slytherin's didn't know their mind at all. Some still believed the Dark Lord's mantra, others were in a confused state of flicking between the two sides, and still others were now saying they'd never believed what Voldemort had said, but hadn't wanted to tell anyone. His home away from home now felt more like a refugee camp.

Draco wandered through the streets of Hogsmeade alone. It was a chilly Saturday afternoon in late November, and he had gone to Hogsmeade mainly to kill time. There was nothing going on in the castle at all, and he had wanted something to do.

He walked down the main street and passed many students from the other three houses, who would either look away or sneer at him as he walked past. He would glare right back at them defiantly, as if daring them to challenge him. He wouldn't be judged by _anyone_ who hadn't walked in his shoes.

He had been to Honeydukes, Zonkos and was contemplating going to the local bookshop. He was beginning to regret coming at all; the shopkeeper in Honeydukes had sold him his bag of fizzing whizbees as if she was serving a mountain troll. He was fed up. The idea of visiting the bookshop appealed to him. It was quiet and dimly lit, with plenty of alcoves to sneak into and hide behind a book. He could get out of the cold and kill some time without being regarded with disgust by everyone around him. He strode briskly towards the door and pushed it open, welcoming the rush of warm air that hit him in the face.

As he had suspected there were not many people in the shop, and he managed to get in without being noticed. He went to the back corner, the 'Magical History' section, where the dustiness reflected that this was probably the least visited area. _Good, _he thought to himself, satisfied. He was just in the process of selecting a particularly large book from the shelf to hide behind, when he saw a familiar bushy haired head buried in a book in the 'Dark Magic' section.

His breath caught. That feeling was back again, making him tingle all over. Of course she'd be here, her and her bloody books. _Fuck_, he thought. He'd been trying to avoid one and one situations with her all year, in case she tried to ask him about his behaviour in the manor; the way he saw it, there would be no way that conversation could go well for him.

'_Why didn't you stop her, Malfoy?! You were right there when she was torturing me!'_

Or, worse;

'_Why did you try and stall her, Malfoy, I know that you recognised us. Why did you care if we lived or died?'_

He didn't know the answers to either of these questions, and he often lay awake at night thinking about it; hearing the echoes of her tortured screams. It turns out Draco was very unlike his aunt; he did not have the stomach to watch torture, he had seen a lot of hapless people tortured in his manor, and many murdered afterwards, and had cringed every time. However, the vision of _her _torture had stuck with him like no other. He had told himself that it was because he personally knew her, even if only as an enemy, he still knew her – and it was hard to watch someone you were so familiar with in a situation like that.

_Whatever you say_, sneered a sarcastic voice in his head, the voice he'd been blocking out since that night in the hospital wing.

Why did she have to be there!? He hated the way he felt whenever she turned up; he felt so… out of control. It was like his loathing of her made him incapable of proper thought. He wished she'd just piss off and leave him alone. He wished she'd be out of his sight for ever. He wished it wasn't all so fucking confusing!

He took a book off the shelf and pretended to read it, staring at her over the top of it. She took another couple of books off the shelf and went and sat in one of the squishy armchairs that the shop had tactfully put in the corners. He watched her as she opened a new book; she flipped through the pages, looking almost feverish with excitement. He rolled his eyes, _what a swot._ She started reading, almost voraciously. Her face was slightly too close to the pages and her big, brown eyes moved from side to side at a rapid pace.

She really was nauseating, he thought in irritation, but was for some reason unable to draw his eyes away. She kept blowing stray curls out of her eyes, not wanting to let go of the book to put the locks behind her ears. _Just bloody do your hair in the morning_, he thought to himself exasperatedly, _then I wouldn't have to look at your stupid 'dragged-through-a-hedge-backwards' hairdo every day_. Honestly, sometimes he just wanted to go over to her, and run his hands through it, just to untangle it, so he wouldn't have to stare at the mess all the time. He wouldn't have to watch those plump, pink lips blowing the ringlets out of her face. Perhaps if her hair was sorted out, he wouldn't be drawn to staring at her so much.

She took two of the books to the till with her purse ready. The witch on the desk greeted her cheerfully, almost lovingly, staring at her with admiration. It was a stark difference to the treatment he got. The hate coursed through him with renewed passion. The witch carefully wrapped her books in brown paper, and handed them over to her.

'Four galleons, please, dear.' She asked, almost nervously.

Hermione looked confused.

'It says they're four galleons each…'

'Oh, yes, but… not for you, Miss Granger.' Replied the witch, almost as if talking to a celebrity.

'You don't have to do that…'

'Nonsense, four galleons – I won't take a knut more!'

'Well… alright.' Said Hermione, grudgingly, handing over the money.

Draco sneered at her from his hidden alcove, _Little Miss Perfect_.

She left the shop, and Draco suddenly found himself following her, and he couldn't stop himself. It was as if his body was attached to hers by a piece of string, and there was nothing his mind could do about him being led away.

_What are you doing!? _He inwardly screamed at his traitorous body. _How is she doing this to you!?_

He exited the shop, and saw her a little way down the street. He started off in her direction, unable to tell himself why. She wandered towards the edge of the Hog's Head and stopped, so he did the same – maintaining a safe distance so she wouldn't notice him. He absently wondered where Potter and Granger's _boyfriend_ Weasley were. Urgh. Thankfully Granger and the Weasel didn't seem to engage in many public displays of affection, but whenever he saw them holding hands, or if she gave him a peck on the cheek, he would feel positively nauseous with disgust. He assumed they had probably gone for a drink in the three broomsticks while she went book shopping.

She had stopped, and was standing at the corner of the Hog's Head, rustling in a little beaded bag. The wind picked up and blew the hair out of her face, and he saw her lips pursed in concentration, as her arm disappeared impossibly far into the tiny bag.

Suddenly, a throng of students walked in his field of vision, and he lost sight of her. When they cleared… there was absolutely no sign of her. Draco's eyes narrowed in confusion. Just as he was wondering how the Hell that had happened, he _swore_ he heard a shriek. A shriek that took him back to the drawing room of Malfoy Manor.

Something felt off… he couldn't explain it. The logical part of his brain was telling him she had probably just ducked into the Hog's Head, but a more animalistic part of him could sense that something bad had happened.

'Shit.' He murmured in frustration under his breath, hating himself for what he was about to do. He walked towards the Hog's Head to investigate, reminding himself horribly of Potter and Weasley. First though, he made sure he wasn't going to make a fool of himself by taking a good look through the Hog's Head Window… _She's not there._ He went over to the corner where she had been standing, right next to a back alley that lead to the lesser visited part of Hogsmeade; the thick, dark woodland behind the Shrieking Shack. He peered down the dim alleyway; and could see nothing out of the ordinary. He frowned with confusion. Just as he was about to give up, berating himself for being such a bloody idiot, he saw something odd in the distance.

Where the path towards the Shrieking Shack met the scrubby grass of the woodland, about a hundred metres away, the shrubs were moving of their own accord, as if someone invisible was trudging through them.

'Oh fuck.' Exclaimed Draco under his breath, not liking how this was looking.

_Just leave it! _The Slytherin part of his brain was yelling at him. _You're too far away to see properly, it could just be the wind, or an animal! Even if it is her, what do you care?! What is WRONG with you!?_

He growled in frustration, but already knew what he was going to do. He drew his wand, and ran up the path towards the woodland.

By the time he got there, there was no sign of any movement in the underbrush. He swore again under his breath, feeling like a sodding imbecile, but trudged in a little deeper, just to be sure.

He continued to edge through the woodland, feeling disgusted at the state his new dragon hide shoes were getting into, and furious at himself for even allowing himself end up here. He would not let himself consider the reasons why. Just then, his internal grumbling was interrupted by the snap of a twig… and possibly, although it was so quiet he barely heard it, a whimper.

His heartbeat started to race. He had been right, something had happened to her. _Oh bollocks_, this was bad. What the hell was he going to do?

Of course, his body was taking him towards the source of the sound before his mind really had a chance to decide. His breath hitched. He couldn't hear anything, and the light wasn't good in the woodland._ This is insane! Go back, you idiot!_

'Please! Please don't!' Someone sobbed, and he recognised the voice, he knew it was her.

What the Hell was going on!? Where was she!? The voice sounded nearby, but he couldn't see anyone in amongst the thick trees and untamed shrubs. They must be magically concealed, he realised with dread… which means they might be able to see him. He took out his wand and non-verbally cast a disillusionment spell on himself, hoping against hope he wasn't too late.

'You really think begging's going to do you any good, Mudblood?' Said a leering, menacing voice.

_Shit…_ Draco recognised that voice… it was sickeningly familiar… it was his Uncle Rodolphus.

He had escaped during the round-up of the Death Eaters and had not been seen since. His wife, Bellatrix, had refused to stand down, such was her loyalty to Voldemort, and had been taken to Azkaban for it, but Rodolphus had valued his own skin more, and ran.

'W… what do you want?' Granger said through frightened tears.

'Oh, well… I think you got off too easy in the battle, my dear,' sneered the disembodied voice, 'thought my side ought to take something from you for all the trouble you've caused. Everyone knows Potter would have got nowhere without you. Do you know what I've had to do to avoid being thrown in Azkaban, Mudblood? I am a Lestrange, a pureblood, reduced to concealing myself and sneaking around, stealing food to get by… these things are… unbecoming… to a man of my stature. I've been looking forward to getting my hands on one of those responsible, and I _so_ hoped it would be you. It appears I was in luck, my pretty.'

_Oh Hell, this sounded bad_. He hoped against hope it wasn't going where he thought it was. He had to _do _something… but he couldn't see where they were! _Shit, shit, shit._

'Leave me alone!' She yelled, and Draco heard the bravery in that voice, 'You let go now! I won't let you do...'

There was a loud _SMACK, _Granger squeaked with shock and pain. It sounded like she'd just been slapped.

'Next time you answer back to me, it's the _Cruciatus_ curse, my dear!'

Draco edged closer towards the sound of the voices, trying desperately to make no noise in the undergrowth; he thought he knew where they were, but he had no idea what to do about it. He couldn't duel Rodolphus Lestrange! And if his uncle heard something, he would most likely disapparate somewhere with Hermione and then she'd be lost for good. If he could only _see_ them, maybe he could think clearer… what spell would make them visible without Rodolphus knowing?

'Now… how shall I begin this?' Said Rodolphus greasily, with the air of someone who is deciding which part of a delicious meal they should eat first.

_Fuck. _There was no doubt in Draco's mind now. He was going to rape her. He'd seen him do it to others.

There was a rustling sound that sounded horribly like someone removing a cloak. Draco was feeling sick. He was getting desperate now, what could he do!?

Suddenly there was a dull thud that sounded like punch and a cry of pain – a male cry. Something crumpled to the floor, and something else took off into the woods. It sounded like Rodolphus had just been kicked in the balls, and Hermione had ran off into the woods. Inexplicably, Draco felt a surge of pride for the Gryffindor golden girl. Maybe he wouldn't have to get involved at all.

'You bitch!' Yelled Rodolphus, pointing his wand in the direction she had ran, '_Homenum revelio!' _

Hermione became visible, Draco could see her running off in the near distance, and he cursed inwardly that she hadn't managed to get away.

'Well well, my pretty, if that's the way you want to play it… _Crucio!_' Rodolphus' extremely well aimed curse hit its mark, and the forest was suddenly alight with her screams. Draco fought off the urge to curl into a ball and cover his ears. He had never wanted to hear that sound again. _Think, dammit! Oh Merlin, oh fuck, help me, help me…_

The Slytherin in him was assessing the situation; he couldn't just curse the invisible Rodolphus, what if he missed, and gave away his position? Then he'd have no hope of helping her. He couldn't think clearly; her screams were making him want to vomit… those screams of terror and agony were fuel for nightmares for the rest of his life.

'That's enough,' said Rodolphus, there was a sick satisfaction in his voice. Draco could see the crumpled form of Hermione quite nearby. Her breathing was broken and ragged. 'So, I can see you're not going to take this lying down.' He chuckled darkly, 'I do like them feisty… but enough messing around… _Imperio_.'

Oh shit. This was really happening. If he, Draco Malfoy, didn't stop being an idiotic coward, standing there stock still behind a tree, he was going to witness the rape of Hermione Granger. He had never been particularly brave, or good at thinking in a crisis. For the first time in his life, he wished he was a Gryffindor.

'Now then, Granger, tell me… are you a virgin?'

Draco stopped breathing; hoping for her sake that she wasn't, and hoping for his sake that she was.

'Y…y…yes!' Was the answer that felt dragged from her. She was fighting. Merlin, she was strong.

Something snapped within Draco then, and the fear was broken. He felt anger filling him; was he really going to let Rodolphus violate perfectly pure Hermione Granger? No, he was not that much of a coward. He started to edge forward, towards the visible Hermione.

'Good,' said Rodolphus, sounding appallingly pleased, 'Now take off your clothes… all of them.'

Hermione was crying, and she began to undress herself with odd, jerking movements, fighting the curse with all she had.

As Draco edged closer, he could finally see the outline of Rodolphus, blending in perfectly with the surroundings. Hermione was now in her skirt, blouse and socks. Her hands were fumbling over her blouse buttons. Fury like Draco had never known coursed through him. With cool calculation, he pointed his wand towards Rodolphus, and began to edge out to a clearing where no trees would be in his way.

'Too slow!' Rodolphus yelled at Hermione, '_Diffindo!'_

Hermione squealed as her remaining clothes were sliced down the middle.

'_Crucio_!' Cried Rodolphus again, and Draco could almost hear the sick smile on his face as Hermione writhed in agony in her shredded clothes.

He finally had a clear shot through the thick trees.

'_Stupefy_!' Cried Draco.

He hit his target straight in the chest and Rodolphus crumpled to the ground. Hermione finally stopped screaming.

'_Incarcerous'_ he snarled, binding up Rodolphus as tight as he could. It had taken all the strength he could muster to not use the killing curse.

Hermione was sobbing in a crumpled heap on the floor, looking blindly at what must have been Draco's blurry outline under the disillusionment charm.

'Who… who's there?' She asked shakily.

He contemplated just leaving, so that she'd never know who'd saved her life and he wouldn't have to deal with her telling him she was right about him all along… but he couldn't. For some reason, he couldn't just leave her crying and scared and half naked in the woodland. Although a big part of him was saying he'd done more than his bit, and she should be able to take it from here, he just couldn't. Additionally, a tiny _tiny _part of him, the little part that didn't _really _loathe her, wanted her to know he had saved her life. Just so she knew that she was in his debt… yes, that was the reason why.

He sighed and removed the disillusionment charm.

Hermione's eyes widened when she saw him, and tried desperately to cover herself with her shredded clothing.

'Malfoy!?'

'Yeah, it's me.' He said tiredly, running a hand through his hair.

'You… you saved me?'

'Guess I did…' He said, almost bitterly. Oh Damn, why did she have to believe in the good in everyone? Couldn't she just tell him to piss off and then never speak to him again?

She was looking at him with those big, brown, trusting eyes, and he couldn't look away. Her hair was even wilder than usual, and her cheeks were glistening with tear tracks.

'Fuck, Granger,' he mumbled, looking away from her quickly as he noticed her bra had been sliced down the middle through her shirt, '_Reparo_.'

She flushed scarlet, as her clothes stitched themselves back together.

'Th…thank you… can you get me my wand?'

'Why not…' he said sarcastically, but without malice, 'apparently we're best friends now.'

He pointed his wand at Rodolphus' lifeless form, '_Expelliarmus._'

Two wands flew towards him, and he threw Hermione's back to her.

She looked at him, a tiny smile on her lips.

'Oh, please don't start, Granger.' He said wearily. He didn't want to think about all the implications of everything he'd just done. He _never_ wanted to think about it.

'Malfoy…' she said timidly from her position on the ground.

'What?' He said listlessly, fighting the urge to curl up on the ground with his head in his hands.

'C…can you help me get back to the village? I don't think I can stand… or apparate.'

He sighed impatiently, '… fine.'

He pulled her up from her crumpled heap on the ground, and slung an arm around her waist, trying desperately not to notice how warm and comfortable she felt to hold. He pictured the centre of Hogsmeade and began to twist on the spot.

They landed in a crumpled heap in the middle of the crowded street, and much to Draco's dismay, Potter and Weasley just happened to be pretty nearby. They had heard the apparition crack and noticed Granger on the ground, and were running their way.

'Bloody Hell! Hermione! We've been looking everywhere for….' Came Weasley's voice, before changing to a snarl 'Malfoy!'

'Ron, it's ok… he's just saved my life!'

'What?!'

Malfoy groaned. 'Alright, alright… I need to go. I can't be bothered with this.' He started to stride off, eager to get as far away from this whole thing as possible.

'And tell someone that Rodolphus Lestrange is unconscious and tied up in the woods, would you?'

Potter and Weasley looked at him, astounded.

He headed into the Hogs Head for a much needed strong firewhiskey. As he sat there, considering everything that had just happened, he reached one conclusion; it seemed he didn't hate Hermione Granger.

Shit.


	3. Chapter 3

'What do you think happened!?' Blaise was pressing him, 'Everyone's talking about McGonagall bringing Rodolphus Lestrange into the castle. Apparently he was found stupefied in Hogsmeade woods…' He shook his head incredulously.

'I don't know, Blaise.' Said Draco, disinterestedly, 'Doesn't make any difference to me.'

'You sure you're not bothered? He _is _your uncle.'

'Doesn't mean I liked him…'

'Really? You didn't use to mind him.' Blaise questioned.

'Yeah, well, a lot's changed since then, hasn't it?' Said Draco bitterly, and without even looking at Blaise, he got up to leave. Blaise made an irritated noise behind him as he stalked towards the arched doorway of the boy's dorm. He knew he was being unpleasant, but he didn't care. He was eager to get some time to himself. He walked down the stairs to his dorm, strode across the room and threw himself onto his four poster bed. He drew the curtains and lay there for a good while, staring up at the green draping.

It seemed Hermione hadn't said anything about what had happened in the woods. Draco didn't know whether to be relieved or resentful about this. He wasn't sure if he wanted the attention and recognition that would come from saving Hermione Granger's life, but was also a little insulted that she wasn't singing his praises from the rooftops.

It was a few hours after the incident; he didn't know what had transpired since he had left Granger with Potter and Weasley – he had hidden in the Hog's Head until the time had come to return to the castle. He hadn't wanted to see the aftermath of what had happened. He didn't want to witness Hermione's sobs, or Weasley's anger, or Potter's surprise. He didn't want thank you's or questions. He just wanted to be left alone, away from it all. But there was nowhere he could escape from his thoughts.

He didn't hate her. He didn't hate her at all.

He hadn't ever hated her really. Yes, he had found her insufferable, but he hadn't truly hated her. At the beginning, he hadn't thought she was worth hating – too much effort. She was just fun to taunt, but she had caught his attention through the years. She was clever, she was dignified, she was brave, she was… beautiful. All things a 'mudblood' should not be. That is why she made him so angry; she was a walking embodiment of everything that was wrong with what he believed. She had defied him excruciatingly just by _being_ there, and then she had truly challenged him by seeking him out and asking him what was wrong. There was a whole other layer to her; not only was she a well-rounded human being, but she possessed a kindness that most people did not, and many would never know. Certainly Draco had never known anything like it before.

On top of everything else; she was caring and thoughtful, and annoyingly observant. She could read people. Hermione Granger had wormed her way into her mind; a place he really did not want her to be. He rubbed his temples and groaned. This was all wrong. This wasn't how he was supposed to feel… Malfoy's didn't get confused. Malfoy's were sure of themselves. He had a plan for his life, and it did not include Hermione Granger… But why did that give him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach?

'Mr. Malfoy?' Came a voice from the doorway.

'What?' He said tonelessly.

'I believe the correct form of address is 'yes, Professor,'' came the indignant, but amused voice.

With an intense amount of effort, Draco pulled himself off his bed and pulled apart the curtains. Professor Slughorn was standing in the doorway to the dorm.

'Yes, sir?' said Draco apathetically.

'Professor McGonagall wants to see you in the hospital wing.'

Draco suddenly snapped to attention, his heart beat racing.

'Why?' He said, somewhat rudely.

Slughorn tutted good naturedly. 'I am assured it is nothing to worry about, my boy, she just wants to talk, although I have no idea what about…'

_I do, _thought Draco. It seems Hermione had told someone at least.

He sighed heavily. Hopelessly.

'Alright, alright. I'm going.'

He walked nervously up the staircase to the common room behind Professor Slughorn. Blaise was scowling at him as he walked by. He couldn't even muster the strength to scowl back.

Slughorn lead him out of the common room and through the dungeons, before leaving Draco near the Great Hall and turning back to go to his office. Draco stood for a while, contemplating the corridor that ended in the hospital wing. He felt sick, and that annoyed him. Why should he feel this way? He didn't even know if he really _was_ going to see her, Slughorn had only mentioned McGonagall, so he should stop being so stupid.

Even if he would see Granger, why should that make him feel like this? He'd never felt like this before, and he wasn't exactly inexperienced with women.

_It's different with her_, said that voice in his head. The prospect of seeing that unruly mass of curls made him tingle all over, like it always did, except now he had been forced to realise that it wasn't loathing that he felt.

He snorted exasperatedly at himself, and forced himself to head down that corridor. He was _Draco Malfoy_, and he could handle a silly little crush. That was all this was, just his mind wanting what it couldn't have. It was reverse psychology; that was all. If she was a girl he saw every day in the Slytherin common room, he wouldn't take a second look. Now he'd identified the problem, he could get himself in check and get over this.

The door to the hospital wing appeared in front of him much quicker than he would have liked, and inexplicably his heart was racing again. He _knew _Hermione was in there. Of course she was, why else would McGonagall ask to meet him in the hospital wing? He took a deep breath, and pushed open the door.

He looked around the cool, clinical room, at the empty beds, and saw one with the curtains drawn around it. This must have been how it looked to Granger the night she had sought him out. He could hear murmuring behind that curtain; male murmuring. Great, Potter and Weasley were here. The last thing he wanted was to see those two, especially when they were fawning all over her in her weakened state.

McGonagall suddenly appeared from Madame Pomfrey's office, and Draco met her sharp gaze with a look of disdain, trying to portray that he couldn't be bothered with any of this.

'Mr Malfoy, come with me please,' She said, striding briskly over to him. 'Miss Granger and I would like to talk to you.'

He sighed grumpily, trying to maintain his unpleasant reputation; it might make all of this a bit easier. McGonagall lead him towards the bed that he knew Hermione must be lying in, and drew the curtains. Three questioning gazes met his eyes as he came face to face with the Golden Trio.

'Malfoy.' Said Potter, nodding in recognition. Draco snorted.

'What, you think we're all grown up now, Potter? Going to be civil to each other are we?'

'Yeah, I thought that might be a good idea… Considering.' Said Potter. Weasley made a sceptical noise next to him.

'Speak for yourself mate, I still think there's got to be a catch… let him explain himself before we decide he's not a despicable human being.'

'Excuse me,' Draco sneered, ''Explain myself'? I saved your precious girlfriends _life_, Weasley, you should be thanking me on bended knee.'

'Whatever… Death Eater.' Weasley retorted. Draco flinched.

'Ron, stop it!' Berated Granger, and Draco finally let himself look at her.

She looked the same as always. A bit pale and tired maybe, but it was the face he knew so well, surrounded by that infuriating curly mass. She looked the same, but he was looking at her differently. Half of him wanted to run from the room and never look at her again, the other half needed to see her every day for the rest of his life.

'Yes, that'll do. Mr Malfoy is here because he has done a great thing… we just need his side of the story for the full prosecution of Rodolphus Lestrange, who is currently awaiting the arrival of Azkaban Guards in my office.'

'Fine.' Said Draco frustratedly, 'But I don't want to talk in front of _them_.' He said, eyeing Potter and Weasley with distrust.

'Fat chance, ferret, I'm staying.' Said Weasley, clasping Hermione's hand protectively.

'Ron…' said Hermione, pleadingly.

'Yeah, come on Ron.' Said Potter. 'We'll wait outside, Hermione can fill us in later.'

Ron grudgingly let go of Hermione's hand and stalked towards the exit of the hospital with Potter, flashing Draco a warning look as he went.

'Thank you, boys.' Said McGonagall to their retreating backs, and waited until they shut the door before turning to Draco.

'Now, Mr Malfoy, can you tell us exactly what you saw? Miss Granger and I am a bit confused as to how you found her in the woods, as she was disillusioned at the time.'

Draco tried to portray that this 'interview' whole thing was an annoyance to him, and relayed the story as if he couldn't imagine a more boring topic. He told them everything, except that he had been following Hermione when she had been taken. He made it sound as if he had just happened to be nearby the Hog's Head when she was there, and he had thought he'd heard her cry out.

McGonagall and Granger were looking suspiciously at him, and he was inwardly pleading that neither of them would ask the question that he knew they were both thinking.

'Very well, Mr Malfoy, you may go.'

He tutted as if to say 'well it's about time!' and turned to leave, but Hermione clasped hold of his wrist. Her touch seemed to send a shockwave through his body, straight to his heart, and looked at her in surprise.

'Wait…' she said quietly, her eyes penetrating into his, 'I'd like to talk to him first, if you don't mind, Professor.'

McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

'Alone?'

'Yes, please.'

McGonagall gave Malfoy a piercing look, before leaving Granger's bedside rather reluctantly. Draco was beginning to get annoyed. He knew he wasn't the most popular person on Earth, but he had just saved an innocent girl from being raped by an incredibly evil man. Was no one going to offer him any credit?!

'I have another question, Draco…'

Malfoy took a deep breath. Here it came…

'Even if you thought something really had happened to me, why did you care? We're not exactly the best of friends…'

Yep, there it was.

'Come on Granger, I was just thinking of myself.' He said, as if pitying her naivety. 'If something had happened to you, and I was nearby, guess who'd get the blame?' He scowled resentfully.

'Oh…' she said, sounding a little disappointed.

He looked into her big, brown eyes that he swore could see things that other people couldn't, and a wave of hopelessness hit him so strongly that, before he knew what had happened, he was sitting on the edge of Granger's bed with his head in his hands.

'Draco?' Came her quiet, kind voice.

He just sat there, completely still, taking comfort in the blackness. Just for those few seconds as he scrunched up his eyes, he could pretend none of this was happening, and that he didn't feel the way he did. But then, he sensed her body shift under the blankets, and felt her little hand touch him tentatively on the back. He froze. In that second of contact, she had broken the last barrier, the last flimsy hope that he could block this all out. She started to rub circles on his back and he couldn't take it anymore.

He stood up quickly and turned to look at her, almost fearfully. She was looking at him with confusion.

'Draco, are you ok?' she asked softly.

He had never been less OK in his life.

'Fine…' he mumbled, trying desperately to think of something to change the subject to. 'Guess you're still sore… but he didn't have you for that long so can't be that bad…'

She wiggled a little under the covers, as if to test her limbs.

'Just a bit achey, it was far worse last time after Bel…' she stopped, and looked at him with worry, biting her lip.

He flushed and looked away from her.

'Right…' he said awkwardly, and then, before he could stop himself, 'I knew it was you, you know…'

She smiled at him, and he knew that she understood what he was communicating. He was saying he had tried the best he could back there in the manor, and he wished he had done more.

'I know, Draco, thank you. And thank you for today… I really thought he was going to….' She looked at the floor uncomfortably. Draco turned his back on her and stared at the bedside table, just so he didn't have to see her looking so vulnerable again. Being with her like this was torture – and he could have left minutes ago, but he just couldn't do it. He stared at the door to the hospital wing, but still his feet wouldn't move.

Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see her standing in front of him. Then, inexplicably, unexpectedly, she threw her arms around him, standing on tip toes to rest her head on his shoulder. He was so shocked he couldn't move, and when he eventually came back to his senses, he felt a lump rise in his throat.

That mean part of him was screaming angrily at him, telling him to stop being weak, to push her off him and never think of her again, but yet again he couldn't do it, and his traitorous body was deciding for him again. He tentatively hugged her back, wrapping his arms around her loosely, uncomfortably. Her wild curls were tickling his face, and he took a breath. Her smell seemed to match her perfectly, warm, gentle, comforting.

'You saved me.' She said into his ear, and then she broke away smiled at him.

'This doesn't mean we're friends.' He said to her, trying to keep the sadness out of his voice. He couldn't be her friend. He couldn't take it.

'I know…' she said, 'there's too much history I think, but… reckon we can call a truce?' There was a playful smile on her face, and she held out her hand to him.

'Yeah…' he said, giving the tiniest smile back, 'truce.'

He took her hand and clasped it tight, knowing that this would probably be the last time he would ever touch her.

She let go, and suddenly the world went back to the cold place it was without her touch. He took a lingering look at the only eyes that had seen him, the hair that drove him mad, and those lips he would never kiss. Without another word he turned on his heel and walked briskly towards the door. He went out to where Potter and Weasley were standing. He and Weasley gave each other dirty looks as he walked past, and then Weasley went back towards his girlfriend. Potter looked at him questioningly, before turning to follow Ron.

'Potter!' Draco called.

Potter turned to face him, observing him curiously.

'Don't…. let her wander off again.' He said warningly.

Potter raised his eyebrows in surprise, as Draco stared defiantly back at him.

'We'll look after her.' He said.

Draco nodded to him and then turned to walk away.

'You care about her…' said Potter quietly behind him.

Draco didn't turn back around but set off walking.

'I won't tell…'

It was quiet, but Draco heard it. It hardly mattered anyway, he thought as he headed back to the Slytherin common room, who would believe something like that?

Draco Malfoy in love with Hermione Granger? Never. He loathed her. Everyone knew that.


End file.
